


You Bet Your Ass, Captain

by GiantPurpleCephalopod



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Scrabble, Team Triumvirate, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiantPurpleCephalopod/pseuds/GiantPurpleCephalopod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty had to say it ....</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Bet Your Ass, Captain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, or hold any rights pertaining to the characters and/or universe contained therein. I do not intend to infringe upon anyone else's rights or to cause any offence by my use of aforementioned universe and characters in this work of fan fiction.
> 
> Warning: This work contains explicit content of a homoerotic nature, and also references to implied past child abuse. If either of these two things will offend or distress you, please click the 'back' button now. On a lighter note, my grammar is also suspect - you can similarly escape the horror of bad grammar by clicking the 'back' button if you believe this will offend you ;)
> 
> For the purposes of this story please assume that Spock and Nyota Uhura had an amicable break up, after which they remained close friends and confidantes. Enjoy!
> 
> Additional: I originally had some warnings up on this story because of the aforementioned implied child abuse - I decided to take them off as I was concerned that they would give the wrong impression about the content of this story. If, however, you feel that there is anything you have read that merits a warning, please let me know and I shall return them.

Space exploration was exciting. Space exploration was exhilarating. Space exploration was, at times, terrifying. Space exploration was, however, _not_ these things _all_ of the time. With new territory came new work to be done: star mapping, charting and other stellar cartography, as well as innumerable scans to be run on _everything_. It was at time like these, in fact, that space exploration actually became quite, quite boring.

In order to combat boredom and the inevitable drop in crew morale that followed Captain James T. Kirk implemented a number of activities and entertainments across the ship, as well as encouraging hobby and interest groups to form. Now Monday night, Rec Room 3, was life drawing – Jim had preened when they asked him to model for them, but declined, correctly thinking Starfleet would find that inappropriate. Rumour had it that the group was working on convincing Sulu to pose for them instead. Tuesday night, Rec Room 4, was the creative writers – a motley collection of aspiring poets and novelists – and Wednesday, Botany Lab 2, was the meeting of the newly formed _Enterprise Horticulturists Society,_ headed by Sulu (no surprises there) with his faithful secretary and treasurer, Chekov. Thursday, Rec Room 6, was the craft group – mostly ladies, mostly sewing knitting and crochet, with some card making, etc., thrown in on the side. Uhura referred to it as her weekly ‘stitch and bitch’ group, and she was also part of two of the three musical groups that had formed. Friday night in the Theatrette was amateur dramatics, and someone had begun teaching baking classes on a Sunday afternoon in the small galley that was only used for producing formal dinners for any VIPs the _Enterprise_ might so happen to be transporting.

All-in-all Jim thought he’d done rather a good job.

He also needed his own way to unwind, of course. The mountains and mountains of paperwork that came with being the captain of a starship could drive a man to drink. So drink he did, every Saturday night that he had off duty, with however many of his main bridge crew who could be rounded up, and they also played games, and gambled (though not with actual credits, of course), and just generally had a good time.

The rules had become: a new game every week, and everyone who wants to play needs to put something in the pot. There had been some very strange pots indeed.

This week the eclectic collection in the middle of the table included a small flask of Scotch, a little bottle of Saurian brandy, a box of dark chocolate after-dinner mints (no one knew how Spock had got his hands on them, but real, un-replicated chocolates were highly prized aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ ) and a small leather bound book, light blue in colour, that proved to be an anthology of old Earth poems about sailors and seafaring (Jim liked to put weird things in the pot).

_Where_ they played tended to depend on how many people were coming. Tonight, it was just the four of them – Captain Jim Kirk, his First Officer Commander Spock (who only attended occasionally and never drank when he did), Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott and Chief Medical Officer/Ship’s Surgeon Dr Leonard McCoy, so Jim had squeezed a small, round table into his quarters. Things were a little cramped, but not too uncomfortable, and the atmosphere was relaxed and jovial. Tonight the name of the game was Scrabble, though Scotty had grumbled when told that they weren’t going to award points to any words that happened to be in Gaelic. 

Now, over two hours later, Scotty was struggling to put together any words not related to engineering or star ship mechanics, but, in all fairness, he had reached that stage best described as _very drunk_. Leonard and Jim weren’t in much better shape, although Leonard seemed to be having a lucky night, for in spite of this apparent handicap he was jockeying neck-and-neck with Spock for first place.

Scotty placed the last tile in his latest word down, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth from the intensity of his concentration. Having completed his task he beamed from ear to ear and announced proudly: “There!”

Jim cocked his blond-haired head to the side, his brow furrowing. “Is that really how you spell ‘nacelle’? Are you sure?”

“You bet your ass it is, Captain!” Scotty declared happily, pouring himself another glass of Scotch. His accent seemed to get thicker, if that were possible, with each glass consumed.

The doctor, who had been reclining leisurely in his chair, snorted into his brandy. “Now _that_ would make things interestin’,” he drawled, his own pleasant Georgian accent likewise exacerbated by his growing inebriation. He swirled what was left of his drink around in his glass and took a sip. The next moment he was choking on it, coughing and spluttering and blinking rapidly in surprise when Jim shrugged. “Ok, Bones,” the captain grinned lopsidedly at his best friend. “If that’s what you want – we can add my ass to the pot.”

Spock, who had spent the evening playing with his usual calm, quiet poise, cleared his throat. “Captain,” the Vulcan began, one upswept eyebrow sharply raised. “I must advise that in your inebriated state your judgement is likely to be operating at only-”

Leonard coughed again. “It’s alright, Spock,” he interrupted, sitting up straight. “It was a joke. Jim’s not serious, are you, Jim?”

The captain leaned back in his own chair, still grinning. His hair was all tousled, sticking up at rakish angles where he’d run his fingers through it, and there was a sparkle in his eyes and a pink flush in his cheeks. “Sure I’m serious, Bones. Add me to the pot. If you win-” Jim paused to lick his lips slowly “- you can fuck me.”

Then the young man laughed, while Leonard growled “damn it, kid, you’re putting me off my game,” at him and Spock slowly exhaled the breath no one else had noticed he was holding.

20 minutes later an impressive triple word score from Leonard (his word was scapulae) ended the game in a draw. Spock and Leonard were tied, with Jim in second and Scotty last. As it was now past 23:00 ship time it was felt best to call it a night – besides which, Scotty was practically asleep in his chair anyway, having imbibed too much of his beloved Scotch. Doubtlessly he would be wanting one of Leonard’s special hangover cures come morning.

“Well, Spock,” Leonard stretched a back grown stiff from sitting still too long. “I suppose we oughtta divide up our plunder.”

“Would you like the alcoholic beverages and the chocolates and I shall take the book, Doctor?”

“Deal.”

Both Spock and Leonard stand, the doctor yawning widely. Jim’s gaze swings from one to the other, his lips quirking in a smile that seems softer, a little hesitant compared to his usual brash smirk.

“Aren’t you boys forgetting something?”

It takes Leonard a moment to realise what the younger man is talking about. Guess Jim wasn’t joking after all. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted – has been since the very first day he met Jim. He always was a sucker for a pair of baby blues. But he’s drunk. Too drunk. Jim’s drunk, and that wouldn’t be fair.

“Sorry kid,” he says instead, “but an old man like me needs his sleep. Maybe some other time.”

Jim’s mouth opens in a small, silent ‘o’. His eyes fall on Spock.

The Vulcan won’t look at his captain, instead focusing his gaze somewhere on the wall behind him. Leonard is a little surprised that Jim actually expects Spock might say yes – after all, he’s _Spock_ \- Leonard can’t imagine that green-blooded statue ever engaging in something so … emotional … as sex. Then again, he probably had sex with Uhura when they were together. That’s different, though. She’s too scary to say no to.

“Jim,” the Vulcan begins, sounding a little … off. Leonard can’t quite put his finger on _why_. “You are by now too intoxicated for me to be assured that you are capable of giving genuine consent to sexual intercourse. I, too, must therefore suggest that perhaps we discuss this subject another time.”

“Oh,” Jim looks confused and a little deflated. “Ok.”

It isn’t until after he’s said his goodnight and wandered down the hall to his own quarters that Leonard realises what was off about Spock. Instead of his usual robotic delivery the Vulcan’s voice had been … gentle, the cadence of his deep, pleasant voice almost melodic. Then the doctor’s jaw dropped. Spock had said … Spock had said …

That pointy-eared gobhoblin – no, _hobgoblin_ \- hadn’t refused Jim. _He’d said he wasn’t going to fuck Jim while he was drunk. Everything Spock had said pointed towards him being quite amenable to fucking Jim when Jim was sober._

Jim had slept around a bit the whole time Leonard had known him (though it was actually less than his reputation would suggest – after all, there weren’t enough hours in the day to sleep around as much as some people thought Jim did). Sometimes it bothered him a little, mostly because he could never quite find the balls to ask Jim to … well, he’d never entirely decided what it was he wanted from Jim. A one night stand wouldn’t cut it, and he knew his friend could be kind of a commitment-aphobe. He didn’t blame the kid, it was obvious Jim’s bed-hopping was, at least in part, a symptom of having not had enough affection or attention when he was younger, and now he was looking for those things in all the wrong places. Leonard wanted to give Jim all the affection he needed, but he was damaged goods himself, and had a history of fucking up _badly_ when it came to personal relationships. So far, as just friends, he hadn’t fucked up with Jim and he intended to keep it that way.

But if Spock was interested in Jim too … well, it was obvious from the way that Jim followed Spock around like the galaxy’s biggest, blondest puppy that if Spock were to make a move then - then Leonard would have lost his chance forever.

The next morning Leonard makes sure he’s up bright and early, heading to Jim’s rooms with the hangover cure he’s sure the kid is going to need. To his vexation he sees that he’s not the only one who’s had this idea – though the covered tray Spock bears suggests breakfast. It smells like breakfast too; there is a distinct odour of strawberries … and waffles. _The cunning, pointy-eared bastard!_

They don’t speak. Jim doesn’t answer when they push the comm, but the door slides open with a _hiss._ The room is in the same state as they left it, which isn’t actually all that bad, but there is that bloody table in the way. Spock starts setting breakfast out on it, clearing away the empty glasses and bottles as he goes.

Jim, it transpires, was still in bed when they buzzed for entry. He hauls himself upright now, rubbing his eyes as he groans quietly. He’s wearing nothing but his white, regulation underpants (though Leonard has seen him in less) and he’s definitely not feeling well, because his face is pale and very faintly green-tinted just like Spock’s. Leonard kneels down beside the bed, gently taking an unresisting arm –taking a moment to appreciate the firm swell of muscle beneath his fingertips, the feel of the smooth, warm skin- before inserting the hypo, taking the utmost care that it doesn’t hurt. Leonard has kept his eyes down, on his work, but he can’t help looking up now, and his gaze meets Jim’s. Those familiar, blue eyes are largely unreadable. Jim swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing, and licks his lips quickly. Leonard knows from long experience that that’s a sure sign Jim is anxious.

Spock has finished setting the table. There’s even – Leonard feels a stab of panic, how’s he supposed to compete with this kind of thorough thoughtfulness? – a single yellow rose in a little glass vase in the middle of the white tablecloth that Spock’s brought with him. To Leonard’s surprise he sees that Spock has brought breakfast for all three of them.

“What’s the occasion?” Jim asks over Leonard’s shoulder, pulling on his pants from last night. His voice sounds strange, small, somehow.

“Doctor McCoy and I wish to speak with you regarding last night,” Spock is – as always – impossibly calm, placid. Except that Leonard sees his fingers clench on the back of the chair he is pulling out and he realises, with some surprise, that Spock is just as nervous as he is. He feels a rush of empathy for his fellow victim of the infamous Jim Kirk charm. “My mother always said that important discussions should not be had on an empty stomach.”

Jim and Leonard are shepherded into their seats. Breakfast is far more elaborate than Leonard normally allows himself – he’s reached an age where it’s all too easy to start packing on the pounds – and involves a generous helping of hot waffles, cold whipped cream, strawberries and maple syrup. There is coffee or tea, or ice cold blackcurrant juice to drink. Leonard had no idea Vulcans even knew what waffles were.

The food isn’t bad, for stuff from the replicator, but none of the three seem to have much appetite. Jim finally sighs and puts down his fork, ceasing pushing the strawberries around on his plate. He straightens his back, rolling his shoulders and breathes out. It’s … fascinating, as Spock would say, to watch the transformation from Jim to Captain Kirk. Where before there was sadness; hesitancy, there is now steely resolution.

“Spock, Bones, I need to apologise for last night. What I said and how I acted was beyond inappropriate. I hope you can forgive me.” Jim licked his lips. Leonard watched the pink tip of his tongue sliding across the plump softness of his lower lip, leaving it moist and shiny. Leonard knew his mouth would taste sweet, like strawberries and cream and maple syrup. Jim opened his mouth to speak again.

“I also want to thank you,” he said simply, sincerely, his voice soft, “for so diligently watching out for me. I don’t deserve two such wonderful friends as you.”

Leonard couldn’t help himself. He reached out and laid his own large, rough hand over the top of Jim’s where it rested on the tabletop. Now both Jim and Spock were looking at him. He ran his thumb gently over the younger man’s knuckles, earning him a soft gasp. His body seems to have moved without consulting his brain first. He takes a deep breath, suddenly, horrifically aware that _now_ is not the time to fuck things up.

“You don’t need to apologise, Jim,” he says, his mouth dry, “-and you don’t need to thank us either. You know it’s our job to look out for you – right, Spock?”

“Indeed, Doctor.” Spock reaches out to take Jim’s other hand. Leonard watches the kid’s mouth fall open in surprise, those gorgeous, limpid eyes going wide. He knows the gesture is even more significant coming from the Vulcan than it is from him. “It was never my intention to cause you any distress … Jim.”

“I- _we_ – care about you, kid.”

Spock is looking thoughtfully from Jim to the doctor. Leonard can practically see the cogs turning behind his dark brown eyes, though he doesn’t know to what end. Jim licks his lips again. Those familiar, blue eyes are unreadable, and suspiciously bright.

“Aww, _hell_ ,” Leonard suddenly spits, making Jim jump and Spock raise an eyebrow in surprise. “I am just _no good_ at this sort of thing, kid. I can never find the right words.”

He lets go of Jim’s hand, clenching his fist in the white fabric of the tablecloth instead. He keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. It’s no easier to make this confession with the hobgoblin in the room. He takes a deep breath; lets it out slowly. This shouldn’t be any harder than all the bad news he’s had to deliver as a doctor, but it is. His thoughts are all jumbled. He’s always been a carer, a fixer, and _boy_ does Jim need fixing sometimes. Maybe knowing how important he is to Leonard will help.

“I had hit rock bottom, that day on the shuttle, Jim. I had lost everything – everyone -I ever loved. I joined Starfleet because at least they would feed and clothe me, and put a roof over my head.”

Jim knew most of his story already. He wasn’t sure how much he knew of Jim’s. What he did know was pretty grim. There had been many a night at the academy, grown melancholy in their cups, when they had just sat close together and … talked. It had helped, when nothing else did.

“And lo and behold, here comes this kid – like a hero out of one of the stories Jo used to like – all blond hair and blue eyes and bruises on his face. And just like magic he gives me a new name, and a new life, and now I owe him everything and, you know, I’ve never yet mustered up the courage to tell him just how much he means to me.”

“ _Bones_ ” Jim breathes, and the word is almost reverent. He feels Jim’s tentative touch on the back of his hand, and then Jim’s strong fingers are squeezing his, and he looks up to see a single tear spill down the younger man’s cheek. Jim has that slightly constipated look he gets on his face when he’s trying to hold back his emotions, and Leonard thinks he’s beautiful.

“Jim,” Leonard jumps, having almost forgotten that Spock was there. His eyes swing back to the Vulcan. Spock still has a hold of Jim’s other hand. Leonard refuses to analyse how he feels about that.

“Jim,” Spock repeats. “I have a … unorthodox … suggestion. I am aware, through our physical contact, of your thoughts and feelings at this moment. With your permission, I would like to share this insight with Dr McCoy.”

Jim’s brow furrows. “You’re reading my thoughts?”

“After a fashion. Vulcans possess an innate telepathic ability that is facilitated via means of physical contact. ‘Touch telepathy’, if you will. The impressions I am getting of your thoughts, memories and emotions through the contact of our hands are chaotic, but I can process them into a cogent order. I should like to impart the revelations that knowledge has brought to me to Dr McCoy also, through a direct mind link between the three of us. I believe it will be the most efficient way of relieving the tension that has arisen between us.”

Jim chews his lip for a moment, clearly debating with himself, then his expression clears and he nods decisively. “Ok, Spock. Do it.”

Leonard isn’t sure that he wants Spock poking around inside his head, but his curiosity is piqued, and he wants to know what Jim’s thinking. He proffers his cheek to Spock’s reaching hand, wondering exactly what the hobgoblin is up to.

Spock’s fingertips are cool against his skin. He’s not sure what to expect. He vaguely registers that Spock is muttering something about minds. All of a sudden he’s dropping. He plunges into – he’s not sure what he plunges into. One moment he thinks it is cool, like water, a silvery-blue-green colour, and though it’s not an embracing sensation there is a sense of tranquillity, of … reassurance. In the blink of an eye something else bubbles up around him, warm and golden. It makes him think of Jim, his gold uniform and gold hair. It makes him feel happy. He blinks, and now images are flashing before his eyes, many images, all at once, and he doesn’t so much as see them as feel them imprinted on his brain. There are sounds and smells and textures and emotions to go with every one.

_We are receiving thoughts and memories from you also, Doctor._ He hears and yet doesn’t hear Spock’s voice in his head. It echoes slightly. _Concentrate on Jim. Allow me to show you how._

He is sucked further down the rabbit hole. The maelstrom of Jim’s memories, his _emotions_ is almost overwhelming, and Spock is there as well, trying to anchor them both. Everything is shaking.

_He is small; a child. He stands disconsolately on the hard-packed dirt driveway, unheedful of the dust, watching the hovercar drive away. His mother is leaving for work again, and the man beside him reaches for his hand, voice deceptively quiet and gentle, though by now he can recognise the dark menace coiling like smoke underneath:_ “Let’s go back inside, Jimmy. 

_He is looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to pretend he can’t hear the raised voices from downstairs. One blue eye stares back at him from the mirror. The other is swollen shut. Frank told his mother that he got into another fight with some boys at school. So his mother called the principal, who told her the school knew nothing about any fight. He’s learned better than to hope his mother will figure out the truth. They’ve played out this scenario a thousand times in the past – Frank always persuades her to listen to his lies. He’s not wearing a shirt. He’s gangly and lanky, like most boys his age, but his body is beginning to show the promise of the tall, broad-shouldered man Leonard knows he will become. His torso is covered in bruises - some fresh, some old, and all stages in between._

_He is fighting and snarling, teeth snapping perilously close to someone’s cheek, whilst all around him men in orange jumpsuits are shouting, pushing and shoving. He swings, his fist connecting with an older man’s stubbled face. Pain explodes in his knuckles. It makes a sound like someone hitting a side of beef with a lump hammer. The man’s head is wrenched to the side, a splatter of blood flying from his mouth. The crowd howls._

_Then Leonard sees himself, drunk and dishevelled and quite frankly raving, being hauled from a shuttlecraft bathroom and shoved into the seat next to … him. Right. This is Jim’s memory of the day they first met. Not his best moment. He can feel himself trembling where his shoulder touches Jim’s. His eyes are wide, wild and there is a distinct smell of bourbon on his breath as he turns to Jim to growl:_ “I may throw up on you.” 

_He watches the scene play out, but from the younger man’s perspective. He’s startled by the emotions Jim is feeling– an initial mix of pity and apprehension that soon gives way to a strange feeling of comradery when Leonard explains how his ex-wife took everything in the divorce. Oh, and there is attraction too, which he can’t understand, because, quite frankly, he’s a drunken wreck but Jim seems to like it. He thinks of Leonard’s dishevelled state as ‘rough and ready’ looking._

_Then he’s standing in the middle of the auditorium, the focus of the sea of red-clad cadets and, worse, the grim-faced officers in front of him. The whole scene is shaking slightly. Ah yes. He watched this from the stands, but this is how it was for Jim. There’s a familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, a cold hard knot of dread that is spreading ice throughout his torso and making it hard to breathe. He has felt it many times before, though he doesn’t think he’s ever had so much to lose. Though Leonard knows the truth, has been granted glimpses beneath the cocky golden façade before, it’s still a shock to realise how much of that is show, how insecure and_ vulnerable _Jim can be beneath all the swagger and over-confident bullshit._

“Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?”

“Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly?”

_There is a tall figure rising from its seat – curiously black and white, dark hair and uniform and pale, pale skin. Rigid posture, hands clasped behind his back. Jim is instantly drawn to the pointed ears, the elegant, upswept eyebrows. He always had a thing for aliens, and even though the Vulcan is a dark, unwanted catalyst in his life he can’t help but think:_ God, he’s hot! 

_A painful conversation._ “Who is that pointy eared bastard?” _The sound echoes in his ears. His own voice:_ “I don’t know, but I like him.” 

_The glass is cold against his hand. He can see Spock’s hand, fingers spread, on the other side, but he cannot touch, cannot reach through the glass. He is afraid. It is so_ cold. 

_His own face swims before his eyes, radiating relief and joy and something smug; triumphant._ “Don’t be so melodramatic – you were barely dead”. 

It is a terrible shock to open his eyes. They’re still seated at the table, all three. It seems very little time has passed, for the mug of coffee at Leonard’s elbow is still steaming. Spock has removed his hand from Leonard’s face, leaving the doctor feeling oddly bereft. Jim is still holding on to him, his hand trembling. They’re both panting. Leonard’s eyes are wet.

And he knows, as if Jim had sat down and carefully explained it to him, that Jim is hopelessly in love with two men – him and Spock – who he could never choose between. They both make him happy in a way he had never been before their presence in his life. He is conflicted, torn, doesn’t know what to do. He wants more, but he is afraid asking for more from one might mean losing the other – or worse, both. That would be … he could not …

But then he was drunk, the alcohol surging through him making him bold; reckless. His mouth plunged in before his brain had a chance to approve the words. Leonard had told Spock that Jim was joking, and Jim gratefully accepts the cover for his slip up, forces a laugh and tries to continue on as if it had never happened. But when the game ended he had had yet more to drink, and couldn’t help but feel hurt, disappointed that neither wanted him – a confirmation of his worst fears.

Leonard shakes his head, making an inarticulate noise in the back of his throat. He feels simultaneously incredulous and guilty: _How could Jim not know? He’s supposed to be a damn genius! How could I have never told him?_

“Jim,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat to try again. But before he can get the words out Jim leans forward and presses their lips together. His lips are warm and soft, and the kiss is chaste, sweet. When he pulls back Leonard can see that he is crying and smiling at the same time.

“Spock showed me your feelings too,” Jim offers by way of explanation.

They both turn to look at Spock. The Vulcan returns their gazes with his usual tranquillity. Then, slowly, almost as if he is afraid he might startle them, Spock extends his hands, the index and middle fingers on each pressed together. Jim accepts instantly, pressing his own fingers together in the same way and touching them gently against Spock’s. Leonard hesitates for a moment – the hobgoblin has left Leonard some of his feelings too – but then he thinks _to hell with it – why the hell not?_ and presses his fingers to Spock’s in what he now knows is a Vulcan kiss.

Spock doesn’t smile, but his dark eyes regard them both with warm affectionate. Leonard knows he isn’t as dear to the Vulcan as Jim is, but Spock has left him with the knowledge that he _does_ feel something for Leonard – a fondness very similar to the beginnings of his love for Jim, and he believes that it is an emotion that will continue to grow and unfurl with time. Leonard knows what he means – he supposes, when he actually thinks about it – that he feels much the same way about Spock. He doesn’t love the hobgoblin the way he loves Jim but there is a … _spark_ … there. It seems more obvious the more he thinks about it. In recent years there has been no one but Jim with whom Leonard can so easily engage in snarky quips and banter the way he can with Spock (which is a bizarre thought, because despite his apparent placidity no one can give him sass like Spock can). Certainly, whatever it is that’s between them seems worth a try, if that’s what Jim wants.

Jim begins to radiate happiness as he looks down at their joined hands. Leonard is struck with the sudden desire to demonstrate to Jim just how much he means to him – to both of them. He will have to think of something special later – but for now he has a simpler idea, and he wonders if he can share it with Spock where their fingers are still chastely kissing. Spock’s eyebrow arches expressively. His eyes are positively dancing with merriment.

“That is an excellent suggestion, Leonard,” he says, his deep voice smooth and sultry, almost a purr. He strokes his fingers along Leonard’s, down to his wrist and back up again, before doing the same to Jim. “Might I suggest we move this to the bedroom?”

“Shower first,” Leonard corrects. He has _plans_. “I want us all nice and clean.”

15 minutes later, all three are squeaky clean and smelling of the hypo-allergenic body wash Leonard has to fill in a special form to have ordered for Jim. It’s a terrible shame the shower isn’t really big enough to have any fun in – a nice, soapy back massage would have been the perfect way to start off Leonard’s plans – but _ce la vie._

Leonard is the last to wash, and he comes back to find Spock and Jim already entwined naked on the bed, kissing languidly with both hands and lips. Leonard grins and shakes his head – he can’t believe the Vulcan is so _hairy_. He’s like a rug. Leonard’s fingers are itching to run through that dark fur; to find out if it’s smoother or coarser than human body hair. Jim breaks their kiss to grant Leonard a cheeky yet dazzling smile.

“Ok, Bones, we’re all yours. Have your wicked way with us.”

Leonard grins back, squeezing onto the bed beside them. Things are a little cramped, but they’ll manage. He bends down to capture Jim’s mouth in a searing kiss. It’s sloppy and inexpert – it’s been such a long time since he kissed anybody – but it’s so, so sweet and just right. Then, to be fair, he turns and kisses Spock too. The Vulcan has a different flavour to Jim, whose mouth was sweet, all strawberries and peppermint-y toothpaste. Spock is dark and smoky – like the tea he was drinking, Leonard realises. Their nimble fingers are dancing together. He’s still not quite sure how all this mind-stuff works, but he hopes that Spock can see what he wants them to do. He concentrates very hard on creating a vivid image of debauchery in his mind. He thinks, from the cocky way the Vulcan’s eye-brow raises and the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Spock can see it– and, what’s more, he approves.

Together they press Jim, on his back, into the mattress, each with one hand on him, still Vulcan kissing with the other. Then, they attack in tandem - starting with Jim’s ears. Their Captain closes his eyes, throws his head back and _moans_ as they each kiss, lick and nip his sensitive earlobes. _Why didn’t he do this sooner?_ Leonard thinks as he works his way along Jim’s jaw, savouring the salty taste of the younger man’s sweat on his tongue and the way Jim tosses his head, caught between whimpering with pleasure and giggling at the tickle. Leonard steals a quick kiss, then gets back to work.

He and Spock end up untangling their kissing hands in favour of properly tormenting Jim. Two talented mouths kiss, lick, suck, and slurp at all that golden skin; down the strong throat, where Jim’s pulse flutters and jumps, between the delicious swell of his pectorals before finally engulfing the pert pebbles of his nipples. Four hands stroke him everywhere, smoothing over the strong curve of his ribs, across the hard plane of his stomach. He arches his back, hips rolling upwards, as teasing hands spread his legs wide.

Leonard pauses for a moment to admire the view. _Oh hell._ Jim looks just like the vapid blond toy so many people assume he is. His face is flushed, his hair tousled, his inviting lips moist from the recent touch of his tongue. He pants and sighs like a Risian performer, his mouth fall open in a rapturous ‘o’ as Leonard watches. His eyes had been closed, long golden lashes fluttering, but Spock is doing wicked, wicked things to Jim’s cagina and the insides of his fingers with his tongue and as Jim _writhes_ on the bed his eyes open and his gaze locks with Leonard’s. _Oh god, he has beautiful eyes!_ They’re like two clear pools that he could lose himself in, drown in. Right now they are sparkling as if the stars through which they are flying had somehow been transferred to their depths.

Leonard can’t remember ever seeing eyes more beautiful.

He returns to his task with renewed vigour, pressing up against Spock, whose skin feels slightly cool against his. Leonard presses a line of butterfly-light kisses down Jim’s inner thigh, avoiding the hard, pink curve of his erection in favour of another target. He uses his thumbs to spread Jim open wide, squeezing and kneading slightly at the firm, ripe flesh beneath his hands. He sticks his tongue out in one long, slow, wet swipe, relishing the way that Jim’s hips begin to bounce and an incomprehensible babble of pleas spills from his lips. He brings his strength to bear – an though he’s never had Jim’s aptitude for fighting, Leonard is larger and just a little stronger – and pins Jim’s hips down, relentlessly licking and sucking and flicking his tongue over Jim’s sweet little hole.

Wordlessly, Leonard holds out his hand and feels the cool, slick drizzle of lubricant Spock pours over his fingers. At first he merely works it gently in a circular motion over Jim’s puckered opening with the tip of his finger, ever so gradually increasing the pressure until he feels the firm muscle begin to give. Jim’s sphincter twitches as he slips a finger inside, pistoning gently in out, until Jim’s ready for two and he can really get to work.

There’s a reason they say Leonard has legendary hands.

Jim’s toes are curling in the regulation sheets as Leonard expertly twists and scissors his fingers, careful not to hit his prostate too often – he doesn’t want Jim to come just yet. When Leonard adds a third finger Jim’s gasps and moans more loudly than ever, until the sound is muffled by Spock’s plundering kiss. Leonard moans too when he feels Spock’s slick fingers – two at once – press inside him, preparing him also. Spock hasn’t Leonard’s finesse, but those long dexterous fingers have such potential – Leonard shivers with pleasure as he thinks about how he’s going to teach Spock to use them properly. The resulting hot wave of lust that rolls through his mind from the Vulcan is overwhelming.

Their need is too great. It’s time to end the preliminaries and move on to the main event.

Leonard holds out his hand again, and Spock pours out more lube. He also empties a generous amount into his own palm, reaching down to stroke himself. Leonard applies his slick hand to Jim’s substantial erection: one, two, three quick strokes as Jim bucks into his hand. Spock shifts aside to give him room. In a manoeuvre he hasn’t practiced for years, Leonard seizes Jim and rolls them over, so that he is now on his back with the younger man on top of him. Leonard’s legs fall open in offering – and Jim doesn’t need to be told twice.

“How do you want it, Bones?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse, rough from need.

Leonard hasn’t been taken by another man since he was in med school. In light of this it might be prudent to tell Jim to go in slow. _Oh, what the hell. He always did like it rough._

“All at once, kid,” he growls out. “One big push; hard and fast.”

They kiss through the burn as Jim complies, all clinking teeth and duelling tongues. Leonard clutches the broad shoulders above him, hard, arching his back, groaning into Jim’s mouth. It hurts and it’s _so good_. Jim sinks in right to the hilt, rolling his hips: once, twice. Then he stills as Spock positions himself behind him, moulding himself to their Captain’s back. The Vulcan nuzzles into Jim’s neck, nipping and licking the sweaty skin. Jim moans into Leonard’s mouth. Spock doesn’t moan. Instead of moans, or gasps, or whimpers like his lovers are making the Vulcan _purrs_ \- a low, rumbling sound from deep within his chest. Jim’s breathing hitches as Sock pushes inside him, no more gently than Jim pressed into Leonard.

Spock begins to thrust, strong and hard, rocking Jim into Leonard. Pressed into the mattress, Leonard lies back and enjoys the ride. There’s little else he can do. The Vulcan is _strong,_ if considerate enough to try and rein himself in. Looking up, Leonard can see the way his dark, upswept eyebrows are drawn into something approaching a scowl. Beneath them his normally brown eyes are almost black his pupils have blown so wide. One long hand has already splayed across Jim’s face, and Leonard blinks at the crackle of sensation as fingertips press against his own skin.

_Too much_ Spock tells them, but Leonard can’t be sure whether or not he said the words out loud. He sounds apologetic. _Too good. I_ burn. 

It’s all a whirlwind from there. He can feel Jim’s cock in his ass, and through Spock’s touch joining them he can feel his _own_ ass ‘round _Jim’s_ cock, and _Spock’s_ cock in _Jim’s_ ass, and _Jim’s_ ass ‘round _Spock’s_ cock and the Vulcan is right, because it is too, too good. Spock has picked up the pace and it is without a doubt quickly becoming the hardest, fastest, roughest, wildest sex Leonard has ever had but it’s also triple the pleasure, as it were, and if Jim, squished in the middle, isn’t complaining then neither is he. The kid comes undone in a matter of minutes, and it sets off a chain reaction of orgasm, and the sensation of them all coming at once is just too much intensity for Leonard to bear.

When he opens his eyes it takes him a moment to realise that he had come so hard that he _blacked out_ and as a medical professional he wasn’t entirely sure that that was actually possible. Jim and Spock have curled up on either side of him, both looking drowsy but apparently awake from the way they smile at him – well, Jim smiles. Spock raises an eyebrow in a distinctly exhausted way.

Leonard wraps an arm around Jim’s shoulders as the younger man snuggles in, tucking his blond head beneath Leonard’s chin. Spock is gently stroking his fingers again – a leisurely kiss. The Vulcan’s other hand is wandering gently over Jim’s face.

“Is it-” Leonard finally asks, immeasurably tired and struggling to think “-is it always going to be like that?”

“No, Leonard,” Spock replies, and he definitely sounds drowsy too, which is funny, except Leonard can’t remember why. “The unexpected intensity of our coupling was my fault. I became … more ‘riled up’ … than I had anticipated. Having never before engaged in sexual intercourse with two partners I had failed to correctly calculate the magnification of the shared sensations between the three of us.”

_”Pity”_ Leonard and Jim both yawn together, and then Jim snickers. Leonard smiles as his eyes close, gently playing with Jim’s hair. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. 

When he wakes again a couple of hours later it is to an uncomfortably full bladder and a growlingly empty stomach. He tries to extricate himself without disturbing the other two, but fails miserably. It is just as well – they’re all supposed to be on shift in less than an hour. Spock and Leonard return to their cold waffles while Jim takes first turn in the shower. Leonard wonders idly how the kid can walk – let alone how he’s going to sit in the Captain’s chair without squirming. He shares these thoughts with Spock, who, in spite of his lack of expression manages to look rather pleased with himself.

“Incidentally,” Leonard pauses, a forkful of waffle partway to his mouth, “why waffles? Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

Spock primly takes a sip of juice to wash down the strawberry he just ate. “They were Lt. Uhura’s idea.”

“You, ah, went to her for advice, huh? So she knows what happened?”

“Yes, Leonard.”

Leonard thinks about this for a moment, but, surprisingly, the anxiety that he had expected to find isn’t there. “Oh well,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and tucking back in to his leftover breakfast. “At least we’ll know who to blame if we get wind of any rumours flying around.”

Jim and Spock take a detour with Leonard to sickbay on their way to the bridge. It isn’t really necessary, but all three seem reluctant to separate so soon, even if it is only for a few hours. There is a familiar red-shirted figure slumped in a seat by the door to Leonard’s office.

“Morning, Scotty!” Jim calls out cheerfully, as soon as he sees his Chief Engineer. “Hell of a hangover, huh?”

Scotty winces at his Captain’s cheerful and, above all, loud greeting. “Aye,” he groans, “you bet your ass, Captain.”

Jim laughs and Leonard joins him, while Spock raises an eyebrow at the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: A 'cagina' is that triangle of skin between your thumb and index finger.


End file.
